


Nemo

by tessykins



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Canon, Amnesia, Angst, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-23
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessykins/pseuds/tessykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claude finds Peter in a shipping crate in Ireland. But Peter isn't Peter; he's someone else. He's Nemo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nemo

**Author's Note:**

> An AU/fix-it starting at the end of 2x01.

He fucking hates this. Guarding this shipping crate, guarding what he knows is inside. Breath freezes in the cold air, ice and rain falling to the ground. Waits and watches three men, petty terrorists, eliminate the guard and come toward him. Breathes in, slides into visibility.

The men startle, hands moving to weapons. Their leader scowls. "That’s our crate you’re standing in front of." Voice angry and Irish, but a trace of American birth.

Claude leans against the crate, picture of nonchalance. "You’ve got the wrong numbers, mate. You’ll be wanting 6109, fifth row in."

Stiffening in the man’s stance, glare hardening. "What’s it to you, english?" They’re armed, of course, but so is he. Claude grins, more teeth than smile.

"What’s in this box belongs to me."

Puts his hands behind his back, feels the reassuring weight of the gun tucked into his belt. He watches the leader hesitate, then turn away, lackeys trailing behind. Knows they’ll be back if they don’t find their cargo. Waits till they’re out of sight, then unlocks the enormous padlock, pulls open heavy doors.

A figure, slumped in the corner, stirs; twists against weak torch light. Peter, hair shorn, stripped to the waist. Container of food and water at his side, boom-box in the other corner. Claude’s breath catches in his throat. A single manacle, his boy chained to the wall. Rage boils in his stomach, claws at his throat; one more atrocity to hold against the Company.

He kneels in front of the boy. Peter twitches, turns away, eyes averted. Claude’s eyes narrow; notes streaks of cuts and bruises on an otherwise healthy body. Sees signs of abuse and vows revenge—later. The Haitian’s necklace is gleaming bright against sweat-shined skin. Knows the boy doesn’t know him, doesn’t know himself, doesn’t know anything. He’s vulnerable, oh so fragile; Peter needing his help once again.

He reaches out, cups a cheek, forces Peter to look at him. "Hey there, pup. How’re ya doing?"

Green eyes snap to his. "Do you—do you know me? Who I am?" Voice tremulous and quiet, so unlike his brave brash Peter. He curses the company, curses destiny, curses the world, for doing this to Peter, for making him into this broken mockery.

Then the boy tries to smile, and Claude knows nothing but _Peter._

"You’re Nemo," he says; "I’m going to take care of you now."


	2. Shells

He watches the boy and wonders if Peter is dead. If this shell is all that’s left. And if maybe the shell is enough.

The boy-- _Nemo_ , he reminds himself—doesn’t speak much. No sign of abilities, either. Basks in quiet, secret smile tugging the corners of crooked lips. Looks to Claude with bright eyes and hopeful heart, seeking unlikely approval. Sees the way Nemo looks at him, knows that way leads to only heartbreak. Can’t look at Nemo without seeing Peter-that-was.

Brought the kid to his safehouse anyway, cottage in the country, rundown but unknown. Set up a happy home and he could laugh if he didn’t think it would choke him. Never thought he’d end up like this: protecting an innocent boy, comforting a battered child.

Nemo looks to him unconditionally, and that more than anything makes him think Peter’s dead. Peter never relied on just him, always had his people, never asked for Claude’s everything. Nemo has never known anything beyond this dilapidated home. Claude watches the boy and knows that Peter is dead; his lover is gone and nothing can bring him back. Never was an optimist, doesn’t wait for miracles.

He’s so empty now, filled with nothing but the spaces where Peter used to be.

He must be a masochist to do this everyday, to face this twisted fallacy of his bright boy, this hollowed-out husk that bears his lover’s face. _Nemo_. Stranger in skin he never thought would be unfamiliar. Mocks him with shades of Peter; until there is nothing left but the hollow, hollow grief.

The boy doesn’t know, maybe doesn’t care. Loves like a child, like a man whose heart has never been broken. A shell himself, loving endlessly into the void Claude’s become, Nemo reaches out a hand.

They’re both shells together.


	3. Enough

Nemo looks to him with begging eyes and hungry mouth. Reaches up a hand to unconsciously push back bangs since shorn off. The gesture is entirely _Peter_ and Claude is lost. He gives in, pulling the boy to him. Kisses fiercely, desperate to feel anything but empty. Desperate to hold on to any piece of Peter that survived.

Nemo’s hands unsure in his, and Claude guides him. Walks him gently to their bed, baring skin to eyes and hands and mouths. Lays the boy down on the bed, sure and steady. He knows these steps, knows where to kiss and touch.

Goes gently with him. First time for Nemo, only time that he remembers. Slides tender hands down lithe body, presses kisses against smooth skin. Then Nemo touches him back and Claude freezes.

Peter’s hand on his chest, but Nemo’s soft gaze. Feels tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, blinks them fiercely away. Focuses on the boy laid out before him. He is here and this is now. Peter is dead, but Nemo is sweet and soft and full of life. And maybe that’s enough for now.

Pulls the boy into his arms and steals hungry kisses from an eager mouth. Presses their bodies together, hips moving hot and urgent. Starved for touch, he reacquaints himself with this body that he hasn’t touched for almost a year. Closes his eyes and lets himself believe, just for a moment. The fierce joy of _Peter_ is almost worth the exquisite pain of opening his eyes to Nemo.

Pushes thoughts and loss aside, lets his body remember what it is to love another person. Loses himself in slick heat and soft mouth and caressing hands. In this moment, it’s enough, he’s enough, Nemo’s enough.

Limbs twine and they’re rocking together and all he can hear is their mingled breath and all he can see are Nemo’s eyes. Can’t bear to look into a stranger’s eyes, buries his face against the boy’s neck. Whispers “ _Peter_ ” against soft pale skin, voice as broken as soul. Nemo is gasps and writhes against him, moaning his name like a benediction, like a prayer.

Bodies stutter and still, resting against each other. Thoughts and senses glossy in the aftermath; panting breaths and sweat-slick limbs. Nemo curls against him, sated and _his_. In this moment, Claude loves Nemo, or close enough.

“Who’s Peter?” Nemo asks with a tilt of his head, hint of angry hurt shading innocent words. Claude freezes.

“Someone I used to love.”

“What happened?” Hurt is forgotten and sympathy takes its place. Claude can’t look Nemo in the eye.

“He died. Little bit before I met you.”

Eyes full of regret, and Claude almost laughs. Sad boy mourning his own death. “I’m sorry,” Nemo says and nestles against Claude’s shoulder. Soft sigh against his chest and Claude barely keeps from flinching. Peter’s gesture, that, hints of old lover laid across new. Shades of a dead man; Nemo has all the gestures, the insignificant things that only break Claude’s heart, and everything else slipped through his fingers.

And Nemo isn’t Peter and this isn’t love, not really.

But maybe it’s close enough.


	4. Falls Apart

It’s familiar now, waking up with Nemo curled soft and pliant in the bed next to him. For the first things to touch his senses to be another’s heat, another’s breath. To lie in this boy’s arms and for the first time in years, feel _safe_. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t Peter; whoever he is, Claude loves him.

Shifting signs of life beside him and Nemo stirs awake. The boy raises himself up on his elbows, smiles sleepily down at Claude. "Hi." Claude can’t resist the urge to smile back. And he could hate himself for turning into such a bloody stupid romantic. Soft, close-lipped kisses; limbs tangled warm and heavy with sleep. Then Nemo slips out of the bed, eyes still half closed. He meanders into the kitchen, muttering about making them breakfast. Claude suspects there’ll be waffles, and jam, and fresh fruit. Nemo is just as eager to please as Peter.

And Christ, they’re fucking _domestic_.

Listens to the muffled clanking and banging in the kitchen and wonders that they’ve lasted this long. Broken boy, broken man and he’s surprised he hasn’t shattered them both. More surprised that they’ve pulled each other up out of the darkness. Cobbled together a bit of happiness, even. Shells together, filling the other’s empty places. The hollow men, leaning together, lending each other form and color.

It can’t last, there’s no way it can last; but it’s enough for now.

Deceptive it is, lets him forget, lets think he can always have this, will always feel this. Claude knows where that leads, the wages of love and trust. He stays alert, even wrapped in Nemo’s arms or lying lazy in their bed. Watches the world for the telltale signs, always ready to run again.

When it comes that morning, it isn’t what he expected.

“Claude!” Nemo’s voice, raised, hint of panic. Claude races into the kitchen, expecting the worst, knowing this happiness couldn’t last with the company out there—and skids to a halt. Stares, eyes wide and voice frozen. Because Nemo is hovering a good four inches above the floor. _Flying_.

“Claude?” The question too confused, the voice harsher and deeper. “Where am I?” Meets the boy’s eyes and—

 _Peter_.

And everything falls apart.


	5. Undone

Nemo is dying and Claude can do nothing to stop it. Doesn’t know if he even wants to. Because losing Nemo will mean getting Peter back. And Claude wants Peter back more than anything in the whole goddamned world. Wants Peter back, but not like this, never like this.

The slow decay over the span of days as Nemo slowly dies and Peter comes back to life. Watches the boy’s face as memories rewrite themselves, pathways rewiring in bursts of electricity. He should have known that it couldn’t last, that Peter would heal; memory is a persistent thing. Claude isn’t meant for happiness and he should’ve never expected it to last.

At times Nemo will stop, stand stock-still, forgetting what he was doing. He’s been doing it for a week with increasing frequency. Claude sees more and more of Peter in him, as Nemo himself diminishes. Peter appears for whole minutes at a time, identity reasserting itself. And Claude knows the end is near. He wants it and dreads it; loves it and hates it.

Why now, when he grown to love the boy in his arms and not the boy in his memories?

Nemo says nothing, hides behind smiles and fearful eyes. The boy was never very good at lying. It hangs between them, a ghostly presence in the home they’ve made. But at night, draped in dark and silence, the boy huddles in his arms and shakes. “What’s happening to me?” Voice small and frightened.

Claude doesn’t mince words, doesn’t insult him by giving him a lie. “You’re dying.”

Nemo nods, surprisingly calm. “I thought so.” He leans his head against Claude’s shoulder, Claude shuts his eyes. Nemo says quietly, “I can feel it.”

The silence swallows the conversation. Then Nemo whispers with tears choking his voice, “I don’t want to go.”

There’s nothing Claude can say as he gathers the boy into his arms. It’s inevitable and it’s destroying them both.

They make love that night, for the last time. Slow, gentle touches and urgent kisses. Claude hopelessly seeks to memorize Nemo, to imprint on his memory the feel of this lover. Lingers on the taste of his sweat, the silk of his skin. Until Nemo pushes at him, desperate to feel alive. Anything to drive back the despair that is lurking just beyond the edge of their bed. They push away the dark, just for long enough. It’s a goodbye and they both know it.

Nemo lingers on for a few days more, clinging frantically to life. Claude gives him what comfort a broken heart can give and starts to distance himself. He’s waiting for it to happen, when Peter takes control again and Nemo disappears forever, the knowledge of it is a sucking void in his chest. He’s survived so much, too much; this will not be end of him, even if it feels like it. Even in love, Claude is a survivor, first and last.

He closes off his heart, and prepares for the worst. But when it comes he is nowhere near ready. Not ready to lose Nemo, to give this up.

Nemo stutters to a stop, his eyes glazing and— _God, no_ —Claude can sense it coming. He freezes, and then scoops Nemo into his arms, a surprisingly light bundle of heat against his chest. Lays the boy down on their bed and sits beside him. Looks at his lover, and the air without Nemo’s voice is the deepest silence he’s ever felt, deeper even than the loneliness of seven years in hiding. Knows now, that he loves Nemo as much as he loved Peter. This was never meant to be and now it's undone.

He cups Nemo’s face in his hands, this stranger’s face become so beloved. Kisses farewell lips still and slack. Turns his face away; he doesn’t cry, doesn’t let himself cry. Waits.

He’s lost in the silence as seconds, minutes, hours tick by. The boy stirs beside him, turns to him a face both familiar and strange. He is Peter now, and only Peter.

“Claude…”

It’s over.


End file.
